Roth High
by Addi319
Summary: Roth High takes you through the journey of a lost girl trying to make a home for herself. After ten different schools in twelve years, she's arrived in Chicago and, though thinking she'll spend the year in relative solitude, she is thrown into a mess of drama, friendship, and love that can only be described as a Divergent AU - or, of course, a high school. Enjoy!
1. The First Morning

**AN: Welcome to my new story. I know. I stopped posting chapters. I'm really sorry about that. I don't know how long this story is going to last, but I'm going to post two thousand words every day for the next week to get it started, and decide on a posting schedule from there. If you have any questions, feel free to PM me, and I should respond pretty promptly.**

 **A note: the writing style for this story is not very complicated. I'm trying to put down words as the protagonist would think them, letting the words flow and tangle as necessary. It's not flawless grammar because of that, but my chapters are pretty well proof-read and I don't think you should have a problem getting through them.**

 **I really hope you enjoy.**

 **-Addi**

Are people supposed to be excited for the first day at a new school? I'm definitely not. I mean, it's nothing new. It's my tenth school in twelve years, this one happening to be in Chicago since my mom opened her new therapy office here, but it doesn't really matter anyway, I guess, since I'm probably just moving away next year anyway. My mom can't find a city to settle in. She calls herself a free bird (which is a term I will never be caught saying in my entire life), and she uses that as an excuse to travel the country. But it doesn't really matter to me. I just stay unobtrusively quiet at school and let my parents take me wherever they want, subtly keeping a suitcase half-packed in the corner of whatever room I happen to be staying in, prepared for our next sudden move that will usually casually be announced over dinner ("Well, kids, I just don't have the patience for the forty-five minute commute to my office every day, so we're moving across the country" – which, obviously, is a foolproof solution to that ridiculous problem.)

At least this time, I'm not sharing a room with Caleb, but the room is pretty small, with just room for a bed and a desk and a dresser – I don't have a closet, but it's better than sharing one with Caleb, and plus, I only have one dress and it can be folded up since it's cotton. Just outside my room is the bathroom, which is going to be convenient, since Caleb's room is down the hall and therefore he'll have to walk down the hallway, but he has a window seat with a nice view, so it evens out in the end. We got here last week, and, used to moving like this, have already unpacked all our boxes. My dad cuts up the cardboard from those boxes and we'll use them as plates until the moving van arrives (it got delayed or something and ended up in Texas. I don't have very many possessions besides clothes, but I have my grandma's necklace, my phone, my earbuds, and my computer, and that private collection sort of demolishes the typically nonexistent desire for gadgets. I'm not a fan of gadgets. They fill up space and are usually useless.

Anyway, school starts on a Monday, and I wake up at six thirty from my obnoxious alarm's blaring ringtone, which is clearly indifferent to the fact that I am a teenager and am therefore entitled to sleep. Well, clearly not, I guess, seeing as I'm most likely spending the entirety of my junior year getting up at six-thirty for an activity that is useless in my eyes (school). I swing my legs over the side of the bed and somehow manage to clamber out while blinking the drowsy desire for sleep from my heavy-lidded eyes, nearly tripping on a stray slipper as my feet land on the wood-paneled floor. I find the other one and shove my feet into them, then pad my way into the bathroom. Brushing my teeth roughly, I force myself not to think about the impending day of school, force myself not to think about the procedures and rules and structures that will throw me off just like every other school has in the past, try not to think about the people there and if I'll ever meet a friend as good as Susan and if Caleb will ever get over her and if he already has and then my thoughts start to spiral and when I come back to reality I realize I've been brushing the same tooth for five minutes and an uneasy feeling swirls in my gut and I just want to go back to bed and shut the world out and sleep all the pressure away.

But of course I can't, and as soon as I finish brushing my teeth I have to figure out what I want to do with my hair, and since I can't be bothered with anything complicated today I brush it out and put it up in a messy ponytail and am in the middle of deciding whether to use mascara or not when I'm interrupted by a voice cloaked in drowsiness.

"Bea, you almost done in there?"

"Sorry, Caleb," I call, opting for just lip gloss because I have foundational oppositions towards the concept of makeup, and plus, my mascara is three years old and I'm a little scared of getting an infection from it. I probably should replace it at some point. "I'm coming out."

I open the door and let a hunched over, messy-haired Caleb slouch his way in, then shut the door behind me and head back to my room to get dressed. Getting dressed is really not that hard for me, since I chose what I would wear last night – dark blue jeans and a creamy fitted shirt topped with my Grandma's necklace and white Converse that aren't really white anymore. I top it off with my favorite black hoodie, which is the key to going unnoticed if I sort of slouch behind the hood – I love it so much that I don't think I've gone outside the house without it in a really long time (I lived in Maine most recently, so even when it was summer I wore it). It's sort of my best friend. I can rely on it more than people – outside my family, of course – and it really does render me basically invisible to people at school. I tuck my phone into one of its pockets and grab my black backpack, which contains a few notebooks, my planner, a binder, my computer, and its charger, which is vital because my computer loses battery quicker than I lose house keys (which sounds manageable, but really, it's not). Then I trudge my way downstairs, grateful we were able to rent a house this time instead of a tiny apartment and therefore we have adequate room for a family of four.

Mom's waiting in the kitchen, standing in front of the stove, where she's making pancakes. She's dressed in a dark blue dress that sort of swirls around her, and her dark brown hair is tied back in a loose braid. "Sweetheart," she says by way of greeting, and I grab a seat at the little square table.

"Mom, you didn't have to make pancakes," I say tiredly, knowing she got up early to do it.

"That's nonsense," she responds, and yes, my mother uses the word _nonsense_. "It's your first day of school at Roth High, and I want to make sure you enjoy it."

I bite back a snarky response and settle for a tamer one. "Are you counseling at the school again?"

She smiles and dishes pancakes onto a plate for me. "No, honey, I'm going to work exclusively at my practice. I shouldn't have a problem getting clients." She hands me the plate and syrup. "Careful, it's hot."

I take the plate and wince a little, quickly setting the plate and syrup down on the table. Just as I'm about to pour the syrup on, Caleb stumbles in, grabs it from me, and then takes another plate of pancakes and promptly drowns them in it.

"It's hot," he says, muttering a curse under his breath, which Mom pretends not to hear.

"Well, serves you right," I say, smiling a bit as he basically throws the plate onto the table and then rubs his hands off on his black jeans.

"What was I supposed to do? I knew you weren't going to pour the syrup right." He takes a seat, tossing the playful insult at me casually. I immediately engage.

"Oh, really? How was I going to transgress the imperatively pertinent laws of syrup-pouring?"

"Well, for starters, you have a shamefully few amount of pancakes on your plate," he returns swiftly. "They wouldn't have done the syrup justice." He shovels a bite into his mouth and winces again. "I forgot it's hot."

"Genius," I say, grinning a bit.

"Well, as I was saying," he continues, tossing his tousled dark hair out of his eyes, "you would have been insulting by pouring only a few drops of the syrup onto them."

"Okay, guys, let's not get into this," Mom says tiredly, but Caleb just laughs and continues.

"Not only do you waste the efforts of our heroic mother here by eating a mere three pancakes, you then leave them nearly dry, which completely ruins the point of them and offends not only your mother, but I as well."

"Three pancakes are a lot." I take the syrup back and pour them over my pancakes. "By the way, you're driving me home after school today, okay?"

Caleb's very social, so he'll probably have made at least twenty new friends by the end of the school day, and sometimes he completely forgets about me, which is rather inconvenient. One time I walked for an hour to get home because he decided to go study at a friend's house without telling me – on the first day.

"Yes, Bumble, I will," he says, using an old nickname for me – when Caleb was about six, he connected bumble and Bea ( _bee_ ) and it stuck, leaving me with the nickname today, though I don't mind it at all – I actually like it. "I'll text you when I'm ready to leave. It'll probably be around thirty minutes after school gets out."

I really don't understand why Caleb would want to spend _more_ time at school than he has to, but I don't argue; instead I finish my pancakes and clear my plate, washing it off in the sink and then putting it in the dishwasher. I check my watch and realize we have to leave, so I give Mom a quick hug. "We have to go," I say, my voice muffled against her. "I'll see you tonight?"

"Yes. I love you so much, Bumble." She pulls me tight. "Have a great first day, okay?"

"Okay," I say, and grab Caleb by the wrist, pulling him out the door amid his spluttered protests about unfinished pancakes.


	2. Before School

**AN: This is a little less than two thousand words, but the end seemed like a good stopping point, so I decided to end a little early. At the bottom, to make up for the lack of words, I've included a short feel-good story about Tris as a five year-old. Enjoy!**

The car Caleb and I share is a dark gray Prius which, after my black hoodie and Susan, is my third best friend. Since Caleb's a year older, he got the car first, and when I turned sixteen it became both of ours, and I love it with a passion others find slightly weird. I don't care. I dart into the driver's seat and slam the door behind me, enjoying the look of defeat on Caleb's face when he realizes that I'm driving.

"Come on, Bumble, I'm older," he says, but reluctantly gets in the passenger's seat.

"Yeah, well, you're a horrible driver, and I don't want to get in an accident today. Did you forget about running that red light yesterday?" I turn the car on and back out of our driveway carefully.

"Shut up," he tells me lightly. "I didn't run it."

"You so did. You almost hit that other car, too. It's not funny, Cal. I'm genuinely scared when you're behind the wheel."

"I'm not that bad," he protests.

"Yes, you are." I angle the car towards school and gently ease onto the gas, aiming for about twenty miles per hour.

"You're so slow," he complains.

"Hey, don't blame me. I don't want to get in a crash."

"You're so overprotective. I'm supposed to be the overprotective one. I'm the big brother. Isn't that my job?"

I laugh. Most of the time, I'm taking care of Caleb, not the other way around. "You were fired a long time ago, Cal."

He can't think of a witty response, and so I go a little faster, then slow at a stop sign and look carefully both ways.

"Bumble, you're actually driving me up the wall," he says, but pulls out his phone and starts texting. I make a flawless turn and find myself at an intersection.

"Which way do I go, Cal?"

He looks up briefly. "Right."

I comply, turning the wheel and easing onto the correct street. "Thanks. Who are you texting?"

He glances up at me guiltily. "No one."

"Caleb! Who?" I grab the phone from his hand and glance at the contact name, then gasp. " _Caleb._ "

"I know. I know." All of a sudden he sounds a little desperate. "But it was nothing romantic, Bumble. I promise."

"You're so stupid," I chide, stopping at a red light and immediately scrolling through the texts. "You know it's over."

"I really don't need your lectures right now. She's not responding, anyway."

I think of my best friend, curled up on her blue duvet, ignoring my brother's _good morning_ s and _how are you_ s. "Probably because she doesn't want to be led on."

"Susan's not like that. She's real. She's down to earth."

"Look, Cal, I'm sure you're going to meet somebody great." The light turns green, and I hand the phone back to him. "Just not Susan. Okay? She's not right for you. She's all the way in Maine. It's just not going to work out, and you have to leave her alone."

I spare a glance at him before turning my eyes back to the road. His face is drowned with raw emotions, loss and heartbreak and aching longing, and I know I'm not being super kind to him, but at some point he has to wake up to reality. Susan told me she wasn't interested in a long-distance relationship, that there were too many strings with too few ways to really connect, and I'm trying my best to pass that information on to my brother without hurting him, but I've tried basically everything and I don't know what's finally going to get it in his head.

"Okay, Cal," I start, making my voice soft, but I don't make eye contact because I'm fixed on the road ahead. "I'm sorry. I know you love her. I know you miss her. I just don't know if … if she feels the same way." I pause, then plunge into it. "She told me she wasn't interested in a long-distance relationship, and I think you have to respect that."

I'm not looking, but I can tell he instantly crumples, and I wait for a response, but it's absolutely quiet. "I'm not trying to hurt you. You just have to make a fresh start for yourself." I see the school a ways in front of us. "Starting right there."

This time, I can tell he looks up. "Wow, Bumble, you're an absolutely horrible therapist."

"Guess I didn't get those genes from Mom," I say quietly, which earns a little smile from him. "I really am sorry. But you can't hold onto her forever. She's gone now, in the vast space that's your memory. You're here now, and you better make the best of it."

It's a while before he speaks. "That was better."

I laugh a bit. "Thanks, Cal. I'm honored."

He returns the laugh, and I put my hand on the arm of his chair. It's a few seconds, but soon I feel his own smooth, slightly tanned hand squeezing mine.

We basically glide into the parking lot, and Caleb spots a space almost instantly. "There," he says, pointing, and I extract my hand from his to steer towards it.

"Nice." The space is really close to the building itself, and when I turn the car off he gets out quickly. Before he shuts the door, I voice a question. "Are you okay?"

He looks at me quietly, mustering up a happy face. "Yeah, I'm great. I'm going to head inside, okay? Maybe hang out in the library before class."

"Meet new people," I say tentatively.

"You too." He slams the door and strides into the building, not making eye contact with anyone else, quickly disappearing from my view.

I get out of the car myself, grabbing my backpack as I do, and shut the car door behind me, locking it with a practiced ease. Then I look around and give a little smile.

Kids pour out of cars, buses, and the school doors to hug other friends, all excitably bubbly and joyful to see each other again. It's like they haven't seen each other in years. I pull my hoodie up over my head and let it shadow my eyes, unobtrusive me taking over. For good measure, I slide my earbuds in but don't play music, opting for pretending to listen while I actually scan my surroundings, a move I've practiced approximately ten times – every time I go to a new school. I spot ridiculously well-muscled boys lounging to one side, all dressed in dark clothes, then a group of girls next to them, all dressed in tight clothes that hug their gorgeously shaped bodies. They look to be seniors, and the crowd Caleb probably would have hung out with if he hadn't stormed into the school so abruptly. A while away from that group are the kids who seem more nerdy, their heads in books, a quiet sense of peace settling over them. A few girls are clustered together at the edge of school property, eyeing the rest of the student body warily, and then there's just the mass of other kids hugging and laughing in a wild disarray of clothes and hair.

I sort of love it.

But I don't engage in the mess. I don't approach any, don't introduce myself, though I'm sure they would be more than welcoming to me. But it's just not my thing, and so I walk up the steps to the school and enter the cream bricked building.

There's a lobby with a kind-looking middle-aged woman behind a semi-circular desk that sort of traps her against the wall. To the side, a security guard sits in a swivel chair, dressed in a crisp uniform and baseball cap with the school symbol imprinted on it. A few kids are crowded around each of the adults, laughing and chatting with each other. I think they're mostly freshmen, and therefore I have no desire to engage with them – not that I would have wanted to, anyway. There are two hallways branching out from the lobby, and two closed doors that are marked _Stairwell_ in black lettering.

"Ms. Waynol!" a voice calls, then a girl is seen sprinting down one of the hallways and arriving in the lobby, clearly out of breath. She's gorgeous – creamy mocha-colored skin with black curls tightly coiled down her back, and dark brown eyes alert. She's wearing black jeans and a dark pink blouse that hugs her figure.

"Yes, sweetheart?" the woman answers cheerfully. She has a touch of an English accent, just enough to make her sound sophisticated and formal. I stay to the shadows, just off to the side of the front doors of the school, and watch the exchange with muted interest.

"So I checked, and 108's chairs are missing. You should probably call Gordon."

"Thanks, darling. That's quite helpful."

The girl grins. "No problem, Ms. Waynol." She laughs. "It's not like I have anything else to do."

This girl doesn't look like a freshman – she carries herself with a certain confidence that makes her almost glow, and she's considerably taller than any of the freshmen near her. But quickly, unable to focus on this for long, I start wondering where Caleb is, and so I pull out my phone and text him. _Where are you?_

He responds quickly. _Library._

Before I know it, I'm moving forward, towards the semi-circular desk and the woman who appears to be named Ms. Waynol and the gorgeous girl who checked the chairs and the uncertain freshmen. "Sorry to bother you," I find myself saying, and my voice strengthens as the entire group turns to me. "Do you know where the library is?"

Ms. Waynol smiles. "It's on the third floor, darling." She pauses and turns to the chair-checker girl. "Christina, why don't you show her?"

Christina eyes me, looking me up and down, clearly scrutinizing me. Her bubbly exterior is replaced with a slightly guarded expression. "Yeah," she says slowly. "I will."

Ms. Waynol notices the change in Christina's behavior and clears her throat. "And while you're at it, darling, make sure she's ready for her classes today. What grade are you in, sweetheart?" she asks me, kindness blossoming in her voice.

"I'm a junior," I say, forcing a little smile, and Ms. Waynol beams.

"Excellent! Christina here is a junior as well, right?"

Christina forces a little nod. "Yeah."

"That works out just flawlessly then! Christina, please make sure this lovely lady feels at home at Roth High. What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Beatrice."

"That's quite a lovely name, dear." Ms. Waynol smiles at both of us. "Well, off you go, then, Beatrice and Christina. Have fun at the library!"

Christina turns and walks away, and I follow her, wondering what I've gotten myself into with this girl.

 **Feel-Good Short Story (Third Person, Tris Protagonist)**

"Higher!" A laugh bubbles out of her as she soars up, the woodchips growing smaller as she rises. "Higher!"

"I'm trying," her father pants, and when the girl comes back he grabs the sides of the rubber, jogs back, and lets go, pushing as he does. His salt-and-pepper stubble is stained with sweat and his muscles ache with the effort of pushing for hours on end, but he feels nothing but joy watching his little princess clutch the chains on either side of her and the laughter that spills out whenever she goes especially high.

"Well, try harder!" She kicks her feet in joy and laughs again, the sound crystal clear among the muted quiet of the playground. It's a crisp April day, the breeze tossing her dark brown curls into a wild mess, and she's wearing a dark pink jacket and her favorite sneakers. "Come on, Daddy, you can do better than that!"

He gathers his last bit of energy and, when the five year-old bundle of joy soars back to him, he expends every last ounce to send her higher than she's ever been before, seemingly high enough to touch the clouds. A shriek of utter joy escapes her, and her father collapses dramatically on the woodchips, sprawling out and pretending to be asleep. The girl scrambles off and flings herself onto her father, wrapping her arms around him in a hug that reenergizes him almost instantly. She clings to him and whispers three words into his ear, raw happiness brimming inside the both of them.

" _I love you_."


	3. The Library

**I hope you liked last chapter. Here's another one. Remember, I'm going to be posting two thousand words daily for a week to get the story going, and once the week is finished, I'll decide on a posting schedule so you know when the updates will be.**

"The library's in here." Christina gestures at the double doors in front of us. "I have things to take care of, so I have to go. I'm sure you can figure out the rest on your own."

"Yeah." I glance at her, wondering why she's shut down, but not caring very much either way. "Thanks for the help."

She shakes her head like a puppy. "I'm sorry I'm being so … cold. Beatrice, right?"

"Yeah, but you can call me Bea."

"No, I think I'll call you Tris." She pauses, and I don't protest the nickname. I've been given a lot of nicknames over the years, and I don't mind this one. It's actually kind of a really good nickname. "It's just that you … remind me of someone. An old friend."

I don't know what to say to that, so I don't say anything. She presses on.

"Her name was Maria, and she looked exactly like you. We were best friends until sixth grade, and then she got in a car accident and died." Christina's almost robotic at this point, words flowing out with zero emotion behind them. "You sort of shocked me."

"I'm sorry," I say, scrambling for the right words. "For your loss."

Her lips tighten but her posture relaxes slightly. "Thanks. That means a lot."

I have no idea why. We've known each other for all of five minutes. She clears her throat and speaks. "Well, now I feel horrible for being so mean, so I'm officially your tour guide." She puts a brave face on, like I've seen Caleb do so many times. "Was there a specific reason why you wanted to see the library?"

"Um, yeah. My brother's in there, and I wanted to make sure he was alright."

She glances at me, confused, but I'm not prepared to elaborate. "Sorry, it's kind of private," I say, feeling horrible myself. I mean, she just told me about a childhood friend who died in a car accident, and I can't say the reason why my brother's down? I make a quick decision, hoping he won't be mad at me. "Actually, he's sort of heartbroken. He was in love with this girl at our old school and she broke up with him when she found out we were moving. I told him why she broke up with him this morning and he basically crumbled in front of me."

"That sucks. Sorry." She glances at me with a new interest in her eyes. "I think we both could use some cheering up. Come on." She smiles, for real this time, and grabs my hand, pulling me into the library. "I'm going to show you my favorite spot in here after you see your brother."

The library is gorgeous. Hundreds of books are stacked into mahogany bookcases, ordered clearly with the Dewey decimal system, which I had to learn in eighth grade at a school in Wisconsin. Bean bag chairs are basically tossed all over the carpeted floor at random spots, and there are a few couches with a bunch of sophomores sprawled on top of them. There are lots of circular tables with chairs pushed into them, ready for kids in study groups or something, and there are a few signs about not leaving a mess taped onto the tables. The librarian, a young auburn woman wearing a floor-length summer dress topped with a cardigan, is strolling through the aisles of the library, ready to assist any kid who wants to find a book – not that there are many, since it's the early morning of the first day of school. I spot Caleb sitting against a bookcase on the far end of the library, knees pulled up to his chin, staring out into space.

"I'll stay here. You go talk to him," Christina tells me, somehow knowing that Caleb is my brother. I give her a little smile before I head over to him and sit, leaning my head on his shoulder.

"The bean bag chairs look pretty comfy," I say. "As opposed to this carpet."

After a long pause, he responds. "The carpet's not that bad."

"Caleb, come on." I sit up and scoot so I'm facing him. "You can't spend the first day of this school moping around. You have to make friends. You have to make first impressions. Otherwise, the entire year is going to be awful."

"It already is," he mutters.

"Stop." I make him look me in the eye. "Don't feel sorry for yourself. This stuff happens, Caleb, and you have to learn to get over her. It might take a while. I know. But you can't waste your senior year on her."

"You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know how it feels. I loved her, Bea. I loved her and she left me." His voice breaks, but I don't back down.

"Okay, and that pretty much sucks for you. But this is supposed to be a year you remember for its fun, for its happiness, for its stress before college. Not for a breakup with a girl who lives basically across the country."

"That's actually not even close to true. We're like, halfway across the country." His voice is dry. He's forcing the words out, and he's not looking at me anymore.

"Caleb. Please. You have to go outside and make friends before the bell rings. You have fifteen minutes. And you have to remember that there's nothing wrong with you, okay? Nothing."

He doesn't respond to that.

"Go. Now."

Finally, he clambers up and glances at me, the spark lost in his eyes. "I guess I should say thank you."

"Then I guess I should say you're welcome."

He slouches his way out of the library, hands in his pockets, staring at the ground. Immediately Christina sprints over to me, a big smile on her face. "How'd it go?"

"Fine," I say listlessly. I'm so not in the mood to socialize. I want to find a beanbag chair in a secluded part of the library and listen to music until school starts, but I don't want to hurt Christina's feelings. They don't seem in danger of being hurt, though. It seems that since she's told me about Maria, she's chirpy and cheerful and chatty, which is sort of what she was like with Ms. Waynol. I don't really want to make friends here, though. We'll just have to leave again when Mom finds something wrong with Chicago, and I shouldn't make connections that I'll have to sever in at most, a year. Look where severing connections left Caleb.

"I'm sure he'll be okay." A bright smile shines on her face. "Come on, I want to show you my favorite part of the library."

Reluctantly I follow her, down the third aisle and making a sharp right. There's a small door subtly placed to the right of another bookcase, and she opens it, gesturing for me to go inside first. I do, and a smile spreads across my face.

It's a small room with nothing in it – literally nothing – except for, on the far side, there's no wall. Instead, there's a window that stretches from floor to ceiling, giving us a gorgeous view of Chicago. Christina hurries in and closes the door behind us, then sits just in front of the window, gesturing impatiently for me to join her. I sit, tentatively, next to her, and gaze out at the dizzying buildings that grow with a certain grace.

"It's gorgeous," I say quietly, shrugging down the black hood of my hoodie so it doesn't interfere with my line of vision.

"It really is. This was supposed to be a storage room, but since there's a big one in the basement, the school didn't actually have anything they wanted to put up here. Almost no one knows about it, but I found it one day with Ms. Veron, the librarian. Well, technically she showed it to me. I come here whenever I'm stressed, just to calm down."

My smile grows. "We're so high up."

She laughs a bit. "We're on the third floor of the school." She pauses. "Um, don't tell anyone about this room, okay? It's sort of my thing, and now it can be our thing."

I'm starting to change my mind about whether I want to have friends here. "Yeah, of course. I won't tell anyone."

She reaches across and squeezes my hand, and I feel a bond of friendship forming, whether I like it or not.

"You should have lunch with us," she tells me, and I look over at her, surprised, but she's staring out the window. "With my friends and me. They're a little crazy, but they're all really nice, and I think you would all get along."

"Oh, I don't know. I'm not very … sociable."

She grins. "There's a party tonight, to celebrate the first day of junior year. It's at my friends' house – Uriah and Zeke. They're brothers, and they host parties for, like, everything. You should totally come. I'll teach you how to be sociable." She laughs. "That sounded self-centered. Sorry. I'm just sort of excited to have a new friend."

I don't know what to say to that. "I'm not that great of a friend, Christina. I don't know if you want to hang out with me."

"What, you're trouble?" she teases, but she doesn't know how truthful what she's saying is.

"Actually, yeah. A little bit."

She glances at me, surprised. "Explain."

I hesitate. "I don't know. I'm sort of not a regular teenage girl."

"There's no such thing as a regular teenage girl," she says instantly. "I don't want to hear any more of that."

I laugh a bit. "I don't know. I'm sort of closed-off. Talking to you right now is the most I've spoken to anyone at school in all my years of it combined. Well, except for Susan, but since she broke up with Caleb we're not really friends anymore. Anyway, I don't think you want to be associated with the invisible girl with the black hoodie."

"You're not invisible," she says. "I can see you right now."

We laugh, even though it's not really funny. "Look, Christina, I'm not interesting and I'm not funny and I'm not special. Thank you for showing me this amazing little room and for talking to me at all, but I think I'm better off alone. I'm really sorry. I just … it's going to be better for both of us that way, trust me."

I clamber to my feet, not willing to make eye contact with her. I'm not sure whether to wait for her to respond or not, but I decide after a few moments to wait. After a while, she speaks.

"Okay … I guess. You just seem nice. Like the kind of person I'd want to be friends with."

"This is getting a little middle-schooly, Christina. I think I should go."

"Just come have lunch with us," she says suddenly. "You don't have to like us. You don't have to be friends with us. But I don't want your junior year to be miserable. And after lunch, you can decide whether to come to the party or not. It's just going to be us and a few seniors. You can invite your brother, even. It'll just be, like, twenty people." She pauses. "I think the bell just rang."

I glance at my watch. It's eight o'clock. "Yeah, school just started." I pause, feeling horrible about asking after I just basically shut her down, but I really want help. "I have no idea where my homeroom is."

She laughs a bit. "Who do you have?"

I check my schedule. "Ms. Matthews."

Now she's smiling a bit, but it's still tinged with hurt. There's nothing I can really do or say to make her feel better at this point, so I just wait for her to speak. "I have Ms. Matthews too. I'll walk you there. We have a beginning-of-the-year assembly after that, so you can find your own way there afterwards by just watching where everyone else is going."

I make a split-second decision and extend a hand to help her up. "Thanks."

She looks at my hand with a bit of surprise, then takes it, and I pull her up without much effort.

"Come on," she says, walking back to the door and opening it to leave. "We don't want to be late. Well, any more than we already are."

 **AN: Don't worry – friendships will evolve. Tris is just really closed-off and it takes a while for her to warm up to other people. See you tomorrow!**

 **-Addi**


	4. Homeroom

**AN: This is a longer chapter than usual, but I wanted a specific ending point and it took a while to get there, and I wasn't in the mood to cut any of it. Enjoy!**

Turns out, it doesn't make a great impression when you arrive late to homeroom on the first day of school.

Christina and I try to subtly make our way through the door, but as soon as it opens we're exposed to the reprimanding expression of a stern-looking, middle-aged woman. She's thin, with a sheet of silver-gray hair that hangs loosely around her shoulders, and her skin is pale, like she's never gone out into the sun before. She's wearing a floor-length black skirt and old-fashioned white buttoned-up blouse.

"You're late," she states, voice cold as ice. "Take your seats. You missed roll call." She consults a clipboard – a literal clipboard. "I assume you two are Beatrice Prior and Christina Kravitz?"

I nod, and Christina says, "It's Tris, actually."

"Who is who?"

I raise my hand. "I'm … Tris. She's Christina."

Her lips pinch together. "Ms. Prior and Ms. Kravitz, take your seats instantly. We have several announcements before you all are released to the assembly, and I do not plan on being interrupted. Choose your words wisely."

I exchange looks with Christina and we look at the rest of the kids, hoping to find seats. A slim blond kid subtly raises his hand and Christina's face lights up as she pulls me towards him, where there's an empty seat. With just a look, Christina gets the kid sitting at the next desk to hastily find another seat, and she gestures for me to sit down in it. We sit at the same time.

"Are you two done?" Ms. Matthews says to us, voice cutting through sharply.

"Yes, ma'am," Christina says meekly, and I nod hastily.

"Good. The cafeteria, ladies and gentlemen," she begins, and I instantly zone out, my gaze fixated on a spot on my desk like it usually is in whatever school I'm at. I pull my hoodie up and sort of hide behind it, not interested in anything outside of that spot on my desk, until I see movement in the corner of my eye.

I turn and see Christina shifting just slightly, her hand dangling out to her side. Without looking, the blond kid's hand reaches out and their fingers intertwine.

Oh. So they're dating. Of course this girl has a boyfriend.

"Ms. Kravitz, Mr. James, when you two are finished, I would like to resume my teaching," Ms. Matthews says sharply, and Christina turns bright red before yanking her hand out of Will's.

"Sorry, Ms. Matthews," she mutters, to the muted laughs of the kids around us. Christina and I exchange glances, hers mortified and mine apologetic, and I wait until the rest of homeroom drags by to let a smile crack.

"Oh, shut up," she says playfully, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. She turns to the blond kid. "Will, this is Tris. Tris, Will. He's my boyfriend."

I give Will a perfunctory smile. "Nice to meet you, Will."

"You too," he responds, and their fingers interlock once more, engaging in a conversation that I am not, nor want to be, a part of. I turn away and consult my wrinkled schedule, which tells me I have Ms. Pedrad for first period, which happens to be English. I adjust the white strings that dangle from my hoodie, grab my backpack, and start to make my way out of the classroom, but then a stern, unfeeling voice pierces the air.

"Ms. Prior. Ms. Kravitz. Please remain with me for just a moment longer."

I turn warily around to face Ms. Matthews, wishing I had left the classroom instantly after homeroom. "I actually have to get to first period, ma'am," I try, but Ms. Matthews has none of it.

"That's quite alright," she says, though her tone indicates it's far from 'alright.' "I'll write you a late pass. It won't take long. Have a seat, you two."

I see Will squeeze Christina's hand before making a speedy exit, clearly not anxious to engage with Ms. Matthews at all. Christina and I exchange wary glances before we reluctantly take seats at two desks just in front of Ms. Matthews, who's sitting at her own, larger desk, pale fingers interlocked over cold metal.

"Are you two both aware of the yearly Roth High Morality and Ethics Competition?" Ms. Matthews starts. I have no idea what she's talking about, so I shake my head, but Christina's head bobs up and down. "Excellent." She turns to me, dark brown eyes seeming to search me keenly. "The RHMEC is a competition between the grades every year that determines the most compassionate, considerate, and morally inclined grade."

Christina gives me a look that equates to _It's a load of crap_. Ms. Matthews doesn't seem to notice. "It is a completely unique tradition the founder of this school created to remind us of ethics as the years progress and humans become less empathetic. Every year in the first week of school, five students from each grade are randomly selected to prepare for this competition. In essence, the task for these five students is to prepare for a debate that tests knowledge of moral issues and contains questions akin to, _Would you steal to feed your family_? The questions are designed to make the students struggle, to grapple with the correct answer, to search inside of them for the right, moral, and ethical thing to do. You two were randomly selected to be a part of the representation of your grade."

Immediately Christina's face falls. "Is there a way to back out of it?"

A sardonic smile cracks on Ms. Matthews' grim face. "No. It's intended to be a bonding experience, and it won't take up much of your time." She hands each of us a half-inch binder filled with leafs of paper. "Inside you will find instructions, tips, and requirements for the preparation and competition, such as meetings every other day with a teacher present once a week. It should be quite … enjoyable." It really sounds like anything but. "Questions?"

"When's the competition?" I ask, dreading the answer

"May twenty-ninth." That sardonic smile flits across Ms. Matthews' face again. "So it's a year-long project."

I decide to play my winner's card, employing formal talk to make me appeal to her. "It's very likely that I move within the year, Ms. Matthews. To a different state. I don't know if I am the best candidate for the job if I'm a … flight risk, so to speak."

She pauses. "I'm afraid that's something you would have to bring up with your guidance counselor, Ms. Prior. I do not have the authority to answer that question."

My shoulders sink, but I don't protest further. Christina, however, doesn't have the filter that I do.

"That's not fair, Ms. Matthews," she protests. "If we don't want to do this, why should we be forced to? I have far too many extracurriculars for this … competition. I'll quit it."

"You don't have the liberty to do so." Ms. Matthews is glaring now, but Christina doesn't back down – she's clearly infuriated.

"My parents are the ones paying for this private school tuition. You don't get to force me to do something I don't want to do."

That's a bit of a step too far. Against my will, I lay a hand on the back of Christina's palm. "Calm down," I whisper. But Ms. Matthews is already furious herself, though she doesn't show it by shouting.

"If you don't like the way the administration runs this school, Ms. Kravitz, then you are welcome to leave. Roth High believes in morality, ethics, and the importance of engaging in bonding activities. This combines all three. This conversation is over. You may consult your guidance counselors with further questions." She rises and begins clearing her desk intently, and I stand up, grabbing Christina's arm and dragging her up as well. I pull her insistently out of the room, trying to conceal the glares she sends Ms. Matthews' way. As soon as the classroom door slams shut behind us, Christina explodes.

"That competition is such a load of crap." She rakes her hands through her flawless curls and starts striding angrily down the now-empty halls, and suddenly I remember that we didn't get our late passes from Ms. Matthews, but I doubt she would have been in the mood to give them out anyway. I jog after her unwillingly. "They're forcing us to do it, but my friend Lynn got chosen last year and she had zero time for a social life. It was _horrible_. I'm so mad I was chosen. _Bonding experience_. Ha. It's such _crap_. I can't even believe the nerve of this school."

"Um, Christina?" I ask tentatively, and she throws me a look over her shoulder. "Where are we going?"

"The guidance office," she says, like it's obvious. "I'm not letting them get away with this."

I grab her arm and she spins around to face me. "Christina, that's not a good idea. Especially for me. I don't want to make a bad impression on my first day. It's happened before, and it doesn't end well."

She shrugs. "Fine, then don't come. I won't hold it against you."

"Christina, it'll make a bad impression for you too."

She scoffs. "Oh, please. They all love me. They won't care."

"It doesn't look like Ms. Matthews is budging, Christina. I don't think guidance will either."

She glares at me. "It's your first day here. I wouldn't expect you to know much about my school. But you probably shouldn't barge in here telling other people what to do like you're the boss of this place you've known for fifteen minutes."

That hits me hard, and I didn't think the first insult directed at me at Roth High would come from Christina. It hurts, pretty badly actually, and I sort of sink down on the wall, pulling my knees up to my chin, sadness swirling around me.

"Crap, Tris, I'm sorry," she says, voice brimming with remorse. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry. I'm so, so, so sorry. Please look at me. Tris." She sits down next to me and puts her head on my shoulder, just like I did with Caleb. For some reason it soothes me a bit. "I had no right to say that. I'm sure you're having a tough time adjusting to this school. It's a lot, and I really haven't made it any easier on you."

I still don't look at her. It just seems so hard to meet her gaze, and my energy has left me, leaving me weak on the cold tiled floor.

"Tris, please forgive me. I won't go to guidance. I'm such a jerk." She grabs my hand and squeezes it comfortingly. "Please don't be mad at me."

I force myself to lift my head up and meet her gaze. I try to force words out. "I'm not mad at you. You just told the truth." 

"Well, it's not the whole truth," she says, getting up and dragging me up as well, an idea clearly blossoming within her. "And I'm going to prove it to you. Come on."

"Where are you going? We have class!"

"I want to show you something – and introduce you to someone. He'll give us a late pass. It'll be okay. Just come on."

I glance at Christina warily, unsure of what she's thinking of, but I trust her, so I nod uncertainly. "Okay. Fine."

"Great!" she says, grinning. "Come on." Then she turns and jogs down the hallway, and I follow her, reluctantly but admittedly a little excited.

We're on the third floor, and she leads me to a door marked _Stairs_ , which she opens with ease. She then proceeds to sprint down the stairs in front of us, while I follow, slower. When we arrive on the second floor, she continues going down, to the first floor. I'm so confused about where this is heading, but I don't question her. Despite what I told her, I'm a little angry. Well, at myself, I guess, and a little at her. I think she just runs off her mouth a bit too much, and doesn't have a filter, and I'm also not really sure what to make of the whole _Maria_ thing, since I don't know how carefully to tread around her. When I felt loss in my life I shut down and expected everyone to leave me alone so I could cry in solitude, but Christina seems very different from me. Should I ask questions about Maria – give Christina good memories of her? Should I dye my hair and wear colored contacts so I don't look like her anymore? Should I just completely ignore the subject of Maria altogether?

I finally conclude that if Christina wants to talk about Maria more, she'll bring her up in conversation. It's a good conclusion, because as soon as I come to it, we're at the first floor, and Christina swings open the door. Once we're both outside of the stairwell, she leads me down a hallway just off to the right and then swings open another pair of double doors.

It's the gym – a massive room that seems to double as a basketball court, with a few rows of bleachers on the sides. There's another room on the far side with a young man typing on his computer, dressed in dark jeans and a black T-shirt. He looks up when he sees us and sighs, and my heart jumps.

He's absolutely gorgeous. Tanned, with a chiseled jaw and cleft chin, keen dark blue eyes that are bluer than any eyes I've seen before, and a clearly strong physique that is slightly displayed with his snug-fitting clothing make him look almost like a model. He looks to be about seventeen. Christina, to my surprise, isn't affected by the looks of this guy – instead, she strides forward and takes a seat beside him, motioning impatiently for me to come join her. Warily, I step forward, and I notice his eyes on me, almost sizing me up, before a little smile appears on his face. I break eye contact with him reluctantly and sit next to Christina, sitting straight and staring at a specific point on the wall behind this guy. Immediately, she launches into a request.

"Tell us about your Four Laws of Humanity," she begins. "I want you to explain them to Tris here." She turns to me. "He's not really a teacher – ha! No, he's a junior like us – but for extra credit he's an assistant to Coach Darren, who's the athletics director, so he can write us late passes."

"Tris?" he muses, my name rolling off his tongue as he fixates on me with interest. "Is that your name?"

I give him a slight nod. "And yours?" 

He takes a moment before responding. "I'm Four."

 **-Addi**


	5. The Four Laws of Humanity

**AN: Here's another chapter. Enjoy!**

He extends a well-built hand to me, the nails square and clean. I internally yell at myself for examining his nails, but they're quite nice. After a moment, I remember what the cultural, societal norm is, and extend my own hand to shake his. His eyes pierce right through me, but not like Ms. Matthews – no, he's searching me kindly, though he tries to be impassive. Involuntarily, I glance down at myself, noticing we're dressed almost exactly alike – dark jeans and black T-shirts. The shared sense of style makes me smile a bit, and then he smiles back, and my heart jumps. Christina clearly doesn't seem to notice the tension, so she continues.

"Basically Tris could use a bit of life readjustment," she says, and I feel heat creeping up my neck. Really, Christina? She had to say that? Of all the things to say, _I could use life readjustment_ is not on my top ten of preferred things to say around … Four.

Wait – Four? Like the number? "Sorry," I say, examining the guy's hair now – it's black and cropped, and I think if it were longer it would be wavy. "Four? Your name is Four – like the number?"

A glint of amusement flits across his face, and he smirks. "That's right. Four. The number."

"Why?" I ask bluntly, and he looks a bit taken aback, but responds anyway, voice rich and deep.

"It's … a nickname I gave myself a few years ago."

"But why?" Now I'm challenging him, and he looks a bit confused that I'm still questioning him, but I don't plan on giving up until I have answers. I give him a smirk of my own, and find myself pulling down the hood of my hoodie so my face isn't shrouded in darkness. He takes a moment before responding.

"It's none of your concern … Tris." The way he says my new nickname makes me love it even more. "I think you should be focusing more on … readjusting your life."

Seriously, Christina? I glance at her, trying not to reveal my annoyance, but it's clearly conveyed in the way she then looks at me apologetically. To her credit, she changes the subject. "So anyway. Your Four Laws of Humanity. Tell them to Tris."

He full-on glares at her. "I told you not to tell anyone about those."

She shrugs, unaffected. "Well, I decided to. Please. Do it for me."

"I have no obligation to do anything for you," he says, and the tone of his voice and the way he says it makes me laugh a bit. He looks at me with a new respect, while now it's Christina who's glaring at me. He seems to take my laugh as a sort of reassurance, and shrugs. "Fine." Then he turns back to Christina. "But I swear, if you tell a single other person about this, I will make you regret it."

Now Christina looks scared, and she shrugs, trying to pass off the fear as indifference. "Okay, fine. Whatever."

Four seems satisfied, even though I'm beginning to think he's a bit of a jerk. "Alright." He turns back to me, that smug smirk on his face once again. "The Four Laws of Humanity." He pauses, seeming to think, and as he speaks, the smirk disappears and he gets more intense. "The first one: Treat your neighbor as yourself. It's a basic law of human decency and ensures peaceful lives." His voice softens. "The second: there are multiple sides to every story. I think of it like a tree – the rings inside of it represent different angles from which one sees something that, on surface level, is quite simple. Each ring contains a history, an age, a point of view of the world, that isn't shared by another ring and won't ever be, because it's just fundamentally impossible." He pauses, and his voice quietens now as he looks more intense. "The third, of course, is forgiveness. Forgiveness is a potent value, underestimated by so many, underestimated by the self-righteous fool who goes about the world"- now his voice becomes ensnared in darkness and ugliness and loathing –"convinced he is the sole reason for which the world revolves, convinced all others are beneath him, convinced there are no repercussions for his. Evil _._ Actions." He takes a deep breath, composes himself, and continues, voice soft again. "For that fool, forgiveness is a joke, and therefore unreachable." He pauses once more. "The fourth is good unity – against all fronts, against hatred, against those who wish to destroy. If we are united, we won't be stopped."

I sit, my back pressed against this uncomfortable wooden chair, suddenly conscious of every part of me – from the tips of my toes to my head, where each hair grows individually from different points of my head. I don't take my eyes off Four, this boy of mystery and anger who is looking back at me with equal intensity, ignoring Christina, who has a wide smile plastered across her face.

"Four," she says, breaking the silence, and I'm annoyed at this girl who doesn't seem to know when to not talk. Four looks away form me, at her, and I glance down at my shoes, the echoes of his words swirling around me. "You _have_ to join the RHMEC."

"The what?" he asks, obviously as annoyed as I am by her.

"The RHMEC," she says excitedly. "The Roth High Morality and Ethics Competition."

"You _have_ to be joking," he returns, glaring at her, but it doesn't contain very much hatred or anger in it. I think I would probably run away screaming if he actually glared.

"I'm not!" She's so excited, bouncing up and down now like a small child. "Tris and I were selected, and people are allowed to volunteer. The meetings would be so boring if you didn't come. Plus, you're so good at this stuff. You literally just gave me chills." She pushes her arms out, trying to show goosebumps, but to be honest I don't see anything on her arms. "We would so win with you, and I wouldn't have to do any of the work."

He shakes his head. "No. Absolutely not."

"Four, please."

"No. Don't ask again."

She gets a daring glint in her eye, and I'm a little scared for her next words. "If you don't do it, I'll tell everyone about the Four Laws."

"Christina!" I turn and glare at her. Even though I haven't known either of them for very long, for some reason I feel protective of Four, and obviously these 'laws' are really important to him. But she just glares back at me defiantly and doesn't say anything else. I turn to Four apologetically. "I'm sorry, Four. I'll make sure she doesn't say anything. You don't have to do this."

"Yes, he does," she challenges. "You can't stop me from saying anything."

I glare at her, a little angry now. "Are you serious, Christina? What is wrong with you? This is obviously very important to him, so don't be a jerk about it."

She looks at me with surprise. "Wow, Tris, I had no idea you felt so strongly about it."

"Well, I don't like blackmail!" I stand up sharply and grab her arm, pulling her up as well, using my anger to fuel me. "Come on, we're going to class."

"Wait." Four raises a hand, and I spin back to him, along with Christina. "I'll do it."

My eyes widen. "Four, I'll make sure she doesn't say anything. You don't have to throw your entire school year away for this competition."

He looks at me bitterly. "You don't know Christina. I don't trust her."

Christina smiles, pleased. "Thank you, Four."

He throws her a glare, but it's still not at full strength. I wonder what would make him give someone a full-on glare. "I don't know if she'd say something or not," he says. "I just don't know." He turns to her. "I'll do the competition. But the next time you try to blackmail me, I'll go to guidance. I literally will."

She literally laughs. The nerve of this girl. "You wouldn't."

"I would. I've never stepped in that office in all my years here, but you would make me. Don't. Blackmail. Me. Again."

"At least give us late passes," Christina pleads, and Four's about to say no, but then his gaze turns to me and, amazingly, he softens.

"Fine."

What is that supposed to mean? Why did looking at me make him soften? My heart jumps. I'm so confused. Four turns to his desk, grabs two Post-it notes, and scrawls something on both of them, then hands them to me. I pass one back to Christina, who reads it suspiciously, as if she suspects he wrote _Expel Christina_. She's clearly satisfied by what he wrote, and spins back around, preparing to leave. I turn and follow her as she walks away.

"Tris," Four says, and I turn back. "Will you wait here for a moment?"

Christina turns around, suspicious, and I gesture for her to go ahead. Reluctantly, she does, and I walk back to him.

He doesn't say anything for a while, instead opting for just looking at me. I feel sort of warm under his gaze. "Tris," he says. "This is your first day at Roth High?"

I nod, unsure of where this is going.

"I believe you have gym this afternoon. I'll be there. Say hello then, will you?"

I nod again, completely confused. Why would he want me to say hello to him?

Then he presses on. "Just so you know, Christina isn't a bad person. I personally think you should become friends with her."

"That's not really how it works," I say, and he quirks an eyebrow. "I don't … make friends, Four."

"Why not?"

"It just makes things harder when I have to leave again," I say, unsure why I just let him know that. Now he raises both eyebrows.

"Leave?" he asks.

"Yes, Four. Leave. I don't stay in one school for more than a year at a time. It's just how my family works."

"I'd like to understand that better," he says quietly. I lift up my hands, palms up, in an _I-don't-know_ gesture.

"There's nothing more to say, Four. I just don't stay in one place for long." I jab a thumb towards the double doors that lead to the hallway. "I should probably get going. I don't want to be any later to class than I already am."

He looks a little shocked. "Oh. Um, yes. Of course. You should get going." 

I give him a small smile, then start walking towards the exit. I sort of expect Four's voice to stop me in my tracks a third time, but this time he doesn't say anything. My feet carry me to the exit, and I push open the double doors, walking through and letting the doors shut behind me.

Christina, of course, is waiting just outside. "What did he say?" she asks excitedly.

I don't humor her. Instead, I turn to her, putting my hands on my hips and glaring at her. "You're such a jerk, Christina."

She blanches. "I'm sorry, _what_?"

"You literally just blackmailed Four," I say, voice brimming with anger. "I could tell how personal those 'laws' were to him. Did he make them up or something?"

She hesitates. "Yeah, I guess."

"How did you even know about them?"

"He wanted to run them by me one time. It was one of the only times he ever confided in me." 

"Do you think maybe that's why?'

"Why what?"

"Why he doesn't confide in you! You freaking _blackmailed_ him, Christina. I don't understand you."

"Of course you don't." She stiffens. "You've known me for all of fifteen minutes. Like I said before."

I try not to get angrier, but I can't really help it. "I don't want to deal with you right now." I start walking away from her.

"Tris, you know nothing about Four's and my friendship!" she snaps. "We make each other angry and push each other to be better! It's just how we are. If you don't know how to deal with that, then maybe you shouldn't be … friends with me, or whatever."

"Fine," I say. "Maybe I won't. It's not a problem for me anyway."

"I just thought you would understand," she says, suddenly desperate. "I wanted him to tell you his four laws because I thought they would help you see that your truth is not always my truth, like the second law – everyone has different points of view, Tris. You think what I did was just mean. He probably thinks it was annoying. I think that it's a way to make a workload easier, and it doesn't hurt anyone. Trust me, if he really didn't want to do it, nothing I could have said would have changed his mind."

"Fine," I say reluctantly. "Fine."

She smiles a bit. "Good." She pauses. "Can we be friends? We don't have to be best friends, or whatever. I just … respect the way you stood up for Four, and I'd like to get to know you better, I guess." She laughs. "It sounds so corny when I say it."

"I mean, I feel like that's a pretty drastic change from 'we shouldn't be friends' from like three seconds ago, but sure. Yeah." I pause. "We can be friends, I guess."

"Oh, this is so middle-schooly," Christina sighs, which makes me laugh.

She loops her arm through mine, and we walk to class, arm in arm.

 **-Addi**


	6. Peter

**Today's chapter is here. Thank you all for the love I've been getting by way of reviews and PMs. I really do appreciate it. Enjoy Chapter Six!**

"So I assume you're Beatrice Prior, right?"

Christina and I happen to have the same class for period one – English. I glance up at the person who spoke, and find a woman, clearly Ms. Pedrad, who looks to be about thirty-five years old with dark brown hair and kind brown eyes (Christina told me that Ms. Pedrad is really nice and they know each other pretty well, since Ms. Pedrad is the mom of two of Christina's friends, Zeke and Uriah). We're standing at the entrance of the classroom after having just walked in, and Ms. Pedrad doesn't, contrary to Christina's previous reassurances, look super pleased.

"Yes, I am," I say, trying to ignore the looks of the other kids in the class.

"It's nice of you to finally join us," she says, and then to Christina, "You know better."

Christina looks suitably meek and searches the room, probably for her friends. She spots a girl with brown curls and grins, then drags me over to her.

"No way you're sitting next to Marlene," Ms. Pedrad interrupts, and Christina instantly goes red.

"Come on, Hana," she says, but Ms. Pedrad shakes her head.

"It's Ms. Pedrad in school, Christina. And you can sit right up front, next to me," she says, amid the little bits of laughter from the girl named Marlene. Christina shoots her a mock glare and drags me to sit in the front. I wish so much attention hadn't been drawn to me today, but I guess there's nothing I can do about it, as long as I'm hanging around Christina. I'm not sure how long that's going to be for, anyway, but I'm not going to really try to distance myself yet. Maybe this girl will surprise me.

Christina selects two seats in the front and gestures for me to sit in one, so I comply, pulling the chair out and sitting quietly, flipping my hoodie up so as to not draw attention. I hate sitting in the front – it's the worst way to draw attention, and I much prefer to stay in the shadows of the back, not having to pretend to pay attention to any self-centered teacher. Though it seems like this woman, Ms. Pedrad, is one of the good ones, it's still incredibly annoying to wonder if anyone's looking at me. After all, I can't look back, and that unnerves me.

"So, as I was saying before these two lovely ladies decided to drop by for a visit," she begins, and I turn red, "I was talking about the concept of language. We tangle these variations of sounds together to convey our deepest thoughts, our fears, our loves – it's a raw form of expression, and something we should hold close at all costs." She looks straight at me and holds out a stack of paper. "Would you please give one to each student?"

I nod, stand up, and grab the stack, then start to make my way around the classroom, doing my best not to make eye contact with anyone as I give each kid a piece of paper. Glancing at one briefly, I realize it's the syllabus, and start to read through it quickly. Ms. Pedrad begins talking about it, but I tune her out.

"Excuse me," a voice says, interrupting my reading. "I'm waiting."

I glance up and make eye contact with a smug-looking kid with blond hair and green eyes. He's wearing board shorts and a dark tee, and he's kind of cute.

"Sorry," I retort. "Didn't know you were in such a rush to figure out that late assignments mean you're a failure in life."

He smirks with one corner of his mouth, and when he talks, it's slow, and his tone is lilting, and he's a little mesmerizing. "Are you sure that's what it says?"

I nod, trying to stop a smile from cracking on my face. "Basically positive."

He hesitates a moment, then sticks a hand out. "I'm Peter, by the way."

I shake it firmly, then make a big show of wiping my hand off on my jeans. He laughs. "I'm Beatrice," I say, not used to calling myself Tris yet, and he gives me an easy-going grin.

"Beatrice," he says, scanning me up and down, and suddenly I find myself hoping he'll find me good enough. "I like that name." Then he pauses, seeming to consider something. "Do you want to maybe hang out sometime?"

"Forward much?" I adjust the white strings on my hoodie, a little smirk playing on my lips.

"What do I have to do to get you to go out with me?" he asks, his smile growing wider, and I try to keep a poker face.

"I'll have to think about it." Then I walk away with a spring in my step, tossing a syllabus paper at him without looking and then smiling because it's landed squarely on his desk. And then I turn and, letting another smile grow on my face, I say, "Yes."

()()()

"What was that?" Christina snaps. It's after class and we're walking through the halls together, even though we have different second periods. It didn't seem like I had much of a choice to walk with her after class, seeing as she intertwined her arm with mine as soon as we were outside the door, so I just go along with her. But now I stop, confused.

"What was what?"

"You talking to Peter." She starts walking again. "You're not allowed."

"Not allowed?" I force a smile. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"He's, like, a Class A jerk, Tris. I'm not permitting your talking to him again."

"You don't have that control over me," I say, annoyed. Wow, it seems like I get angry at this girl every time I talk to her.

"Yes, I do. It's my job as a friend to tell you who you can hang out with," she says matter-of-factly. "Plus, you just have to trust me on this one."

"One," I say, wheeling around in front of her to stop her in her tracks, trying not to let my anger spill over, "It's not your job. Friends are supposed to _support_ each other, genius, not tear each other down. Two, I've done a lot of trusting and it doesn't always turn out well, so that's not the best card to play with me. Three, he asked me on a date, and he's cute and friendly and nice and I want to say yes. So thanks for your concern, Christina, but I think I'm good on my own." I try to turn and walk away, but it doesn't work out, since her arm is still tangled in mine. I try to yank it free, but she has none of it.

"You don't know what you're talking about, Tris," Christina pleads, and I see some honesty in her eyes, but I'm a little too annoyed to care. "Peter is trouble. Please don't go out with him."

"Christina, my mistakes are mine to make," I say, and she scrunches up her face in confusion, which admittedly is kind of adorable. I try to explain. "If I mess up, that's my fault. But that's because I did it in the first place, by myself, and I have to feel the repercussions of my actions. I really do appreciate you trying to look out for me, but I want to do this. And if it turns out to be the wrong thing, then oh well. I'll recover and try again, maybe with someone else. That's how dating works."

She shakes her head adamantly. "No. Not with Peter."

Now it's my turn to scrunch my face up in confusion. "What do you mean?"

She starts counting on her fingers. "He's jealous. Possessive. Narrow-minded. Angry. He might seem nice and friendly on the outside, but once you get to know him, he's a real jerk. And those are the worst kinds."

"How would you know?" I don't pull out my arm from hers, a little afraid of the answer.

She pauses. "I dated him, Tris. Freshman year he asked me out, and I thought what you did – that he was cute, and friendly, and what could happen? After I said yes to coffee, he took it for granted that we were dating – exclusively. I wasn't even allowed to talk to another boy. One time he was yelling at me outside school and Will came up and defended me against him. Peter stormed away and Will and I got to know each other. Eventually I realized that relationships aren't supposed to be contaminated with terror and I tried to break up with him at school." She takes a deep, shuddering breath and she doesn't make eye contact. "He started beating me up. Badly. Will and Four saw us through a window or something and rushed in and scared Peter away. Since Four refused to go to guidance, Will did, and Peter was suspended for three weeks, even though he had broken my wrist." When Christina looks at me, she's pleading. "Please, Tris. Don't go out with him. Don't put yourself through what I put myself through."

I take a deep breath. "You were a freshman, Christina. I'm sure you don't remember it correctly. He wouldn't do that." 

"Tris, he broke my wrist."

"It … it was an accident or something. And we're different, you and me."

"How?" she challenges.

"I'm just saying, I can take care of myself. I've lived in some pretty sketchy places before, Christina. I'm pretty sure I can handle a junior in board shorts."

"Tris, I'm warning you, you don't want to mess with Peter," Christina says, but now I'm walking away from her. I'm sure she's wrong. Peter isn't possibly that bad. And even if he is, it's like I said to Christina – I've been through some pretty rough stuff. I can take care of myself.

"Tris," Christina calls out to me, and I turn around. "I'll see you after second period, okay?"

I'm a little surprised by this, but I just nod. "Sure. See you, Christina."

"Bye, Tris." She gives me a little smile and heads to her class, and I turn and do the same.

()()()

Second period starts off uneventful – just the same handing out of our syllabus for the year, the same discussions, the same expectations, and the same school policies, though I don't see Christina, Will, or Peter, so I basically tune out – until the classroom door opens. I turn to see who entered and try to conceal my surprise.

It's Four. He carries himself with an air of confidence, scanning the room quickly before his eyes land on me sitting in the back. Instantly he makes his way over and sits next to me, then proceeds to stare at his desk for a while. The teacher doesn't seem to care that he's late, not even acknowledging him, which is kind of unfair considering the reprimanding I got when I was late for my last two classes – but it's not like I want to hear Four berated and embarrassed (though, of course, it seems pretty hard to make the guy embarrassed). Suddenly he takes out a Post-it note pack from a simple black binder and begins writing on one, and I try not to watch him write, but it's a little hard not to watch the tanned hand moving and leaving small printed letters in its place as it moves on to the next space. He looks so focused, so concentrated, and he's sort of adorable.

Finally, to my absolute shock, he folds the note, looks up, and subtly slips it onto my desk while the teacher isn't looking.

Seriously? Passing notes? I try not to let a laugh escape me as I glance at him. He's pretending to be intently focused on the teacher, which then makes a laugh bubble out of me. Thankfully, no one seems to notice, and so I carefully unfold the Post-it note and read it, my happiness instantly dissipating as I read.

 _So you're going out with Peter?_

I shoot him a glare, but he's not making eye contact, so reluctantly I take out a pencil and start to compose a note back to him. I keep erasing because whatever I try to say just somehow doesn't sound right, and – I don't know. It just feels wrong, thinking about going out with Peter with Four knowing. And then when I think about just Four, and the way he put together four incredible laws of humanity and he's so passionate and so handsome and can make me laugh out loud in the middle of class, it starts feeling wrong to think about going out with Peter at all. But then I shake my head like a puppy to rid myself of these ridiculous thoughts and finally scratch out a word that feels wrong but that I hope is right.

 _Yes._

And after I fold it up and pass it subtly to him and try to not to watch him (but of course I do), I see his chiseled, gorgeous face fall, and for the first time I realize what a sad Four looks like.

 **I hope you enjoyed.**

 **-Addi**


	7. Lunch

Lunch.

It's busy, kids overflowing through the narrow space to get food, crowding and pushing and shoving to get today's special: the hot margarita pizza that comes in a box. I don't see any of the very few people I know, so I make sure my hoodie shrouds my face in darkness and then, glancing at the complete mess of kids trying to get food, opt to skip cafeteria lunch for the day and just grab something from the vending machine just outside said cafeteria. Thankfully there are only a few people waiting in line to get snacks, and I'm so busy desperately going through my pocket to try to find two dollars for Cheez-Its that I don't realize I know someone in the vending machine line.

"Beatrice."

I look up and see Peter, hands tucked in his shorts pockets as he leans against the side of the vending machine, looking at me with a flirty smirk on his tanned face. I smile, trying to toss off what Christina had said before in the hallway about him. "Hey, Peter."

"Hey yourself." He pauses. "So this morning … that was a yes?"

I shrug. "Maybe."

He breaks out into a grin. "Oh, come on." He tries to make puppy-dog eyes, which makes me laugh, and I really don't see anything in him that Christina was trying to point out. He looks easygoing, and friendly, and open, and funny. I honestly don't see the issue with this kid. "Give it to me straight. You're too gorgeous for a guy like me, I know."

"No," I say, grinning back. "Quite the opposite."

"Oh, really?" He quirks an eyebrow. "Yes or no, Hoodie Girl?"

Hoodie Girl? Is that a compliment or an insult? I decide not to question it. "Yes," I say, trying to be decisive but at the same time feeling like my smile is a little forced. "Yes."

"Well then," he drawls, strolling very slowly over to me and standing just in front of me, "Can I get your number?" He fishes out a phone from his pocket and hands it to me, and I go to his contacts and put my number in. "And," he says, drawing out each word very slowly, "how about this afternoon for a date?"

I'm about to respond but suddenly there's a strong hand on my shoulder, and I whirl around to see, of all people, Four. He's glaring at Peter, and I whirl back around to see, instead of Peter's usual friendly and easygoing expression, an ugly snarl. I'm incredibly confused, and I try to figure out what's happening, but from there it only gets more confusing.

"She's with me," Four says quietly, and I'm so shocked I don't speak. I'm afraid Peter's going to launch a fist into Four's jaw, but instead a guy with gelled black hair and piercings strolls up to him and slings a tattooed arm across Peter's shoulder.

"We got a problem, here, P?" he asks, making solid eye contact with Four, who shrugs.

"No, Eric, we don't," Four responds in a voice icier than I thought possible.

"That's great to hear, Toby, but I was talking to Peter," Eric responds smoothly, laying emphasis on the 'Toby.' _Toby_? Immediately Four stiffens, grabs my arm, and drags me away against my will back into the cafeteria, and almost instantly I'm able to speak again. I glare at Four, yanking my arm away from his.

"Seriously?" I snap. "Are you actually, totally, one hundred percent being serious right now?"

He raises an eyebrow, his expression tainted with rage from the exchange with Peter and the guy apparently named Eric. "I believe so. Yes."

"Four, I was literally having a nice conversation with Peter. Why on earth would you interrupt?" I fold my arms angrily. He grabs my arm and hauls me towards the far side of the cafeteria.

"I don't want you hanging out with that kid," is all he says, and I yank my arm right back and plant my feet on the smooth surface of the cafeteria floor.

"I could tell he's not your best friend, Four, but what was up with that? I'm serious!" 

"He's not what he seems," Four offers, and I roll my eyes.

"Yeah, I've heard that already. You don't get to do that, by the way. You don't get to interrupt my conversations. Hasn't anyone told you that's rude?"

"Hasn't anyone told you that hanging out with a jerk is inconsiderate to people who care about you?"

I scoff. "What, like you?" Suddenly I find myself hoping that's true, and my heart jumps in my throat, because maybe he's confessing that he cares about me and for some reason I feel like floating and instantly the mere thought of Peter vanishes from my mind because Four is confessing that he cares about me and I want nothing more and maybe he'll kiss me and – 

"No, Tris," he says patiently, as if he's talking to a small child. "Like Christina."

I'm brought back down to earth faster than I thought possible, and when I speak, my voice is weak and plaintive. "W-what do you mean, Christina?"

"She went through a really rough time with Peter, and when she told you about it, she expected you to understand. When you shut her down, that left her feeling …" He gestures with his hand. "Look, I don't know. I don't do girl talk. That's something you have to work out with Christina. I'm just here to bring you to our table."

"What?"

"Yes, Tris. To our table. So you don't do anything else stupid."

I scoff. "Why are you the … the boss of me? You know nothing about me. Plus, I can take care of myself."

"Clearly not, considering how you handled yourself with Peter."

"I handled myself just fine, thank you very much."

"That guy Eric? Did you not notice he was watching your conversation? He was waiting to see if there was any trouble from you, Tris. If you hadn't agreed to go out with Peter right then and there, he would have joined the conversation sooner."

"Don't be ridiculous, Four."

"I'm not!" he says. "Look, I've only known you for less than a day, but I can tell how impulsive you are. You have to be careful with this guy, Tris. Please don't mess around with him."

"I'm not _messing_ around," I retort. "If you have this big of a problem with him, Four, then maybe you should talk to the administration. If he's that bad, guidance should know about it."

Four scoffs. "Not only do I never go to guidance for anything, but Peter's the son of the principal. Anyone who complains about him would get suspended."

My eyes widen. "That's just not fair."

He shrugs. "You have to be careful, Tris. That's all I'm saying." He pauses. "Come on. Christina's waiting for you."

I sigh and roll my eyes, but follow him anyway, towards the last table on the far side of the cafeteria. Sure enough, I spot Christina sitting at that table, and she's talking animatedly with the brown-haired girl we saw in second period – Marlene, I think her name was. When Christina spots me, her face lights up and she pats the empty chair next to her.

"Come sit, Tris."

I reluctantly do, trying to ignore the curious eyes of everyone else at the table. This is not how I imagined the first day at school going.

"Let me introduce you to everyone," she says excitedly, and gestures to the brown-haired girl. "That's Marlene." Then to a blonde who looks a little like a model, "That's Shauna." Then to a strong-looking dirty blond guy sitting next to Shauna, "That's Zeke, one son of Ms. Pedrad and Shauna's boyfriend." Then to a younger version of Zeke with a fuller mop of dirty blond, almost brown, hair: "That's Uriah, the other son, and Marlene's boyfriend." She turns to Will, that slim blond kid who looks at Christina like she's the light of his life. "You've already met Will, my boyfriend." She then gestures to a girl in tight black jeans and a black jean jacket with close-cropped blonde hair, "That's Lynn, Shauna's sister."

The names swirl around me. Never in all my years of school have I met a group of people on my first day of school like this. And Peter showing interest in me? I've never had a guy ask me out like that before – no one has ever paid me attention like that before. I sort of like how forward he is, how honest he is, and how open he seems, and the friendliness that is revealed when he is open. I honestly don't know what Four and Christina are talking about when they say he's trouble. It just doesn't seem … accurate. How could someone so cute and nice and friendly be a bad person?

Christina must have remembered things wrong. I'm sure Peter breaking her wrist was an accident. He wouldn't do that on purpose.

"Tris," Christina's saying, and I'm jerked back to reality as she waves a hand in front of my face. "Tris, are you there?"

"Yeah." I nod. "Yeah, sorry."

"I was saying that you should really come to the party tonight," she says, glancing around at her friends. "Right? Shouldn't Tris come?"

To my surprise, they all nod, albeit a little listlessly, as if they know better not to argue with Christina. I laugh uneasily. "I don't know if that's a good idea, Christina," I say to her, keeping my voice low. "I already told you I don't make friends."

Her lips tighten. "Tris, you're sort of being a jerk. I'm trying to welcome you here, and you're shutting me out."

"Shutting you out now is better than shutting you out after a year," I say. "It hurts less."

She looks adequately silent, so I instantly feel bad, but don't take my words back. It's true, what I said. I just don't want to hurt anyone.

"So," the girl named Marlene asks in a fake cheery tone, clearly wanting to cut through the awkwardness, "where are you from, Tris?"

I laugh a bit. "You have no idea how complicated that question is, Marlene."

She seems pleased I remembered her name. "Okay, well, we have time."

I smile. I like her. "Well, originally I'm from San Francisco, but I just came from Maine. Before that was Connecticut, then Virginia, then Miami, then Washington, DC." I pause. "Oh, I can't remember where I was before Washington. Wait – somewhere in Vermont. Then I think Seattle, but that was only for three months, so it doesn't really count. Before that was New York, I think, and we had this tiny apartment where the bathroom was practically in the kitchen and our whole family had to share a room about the length of this table. We stayed there for, like, seven months."

Marlene's jaw drops – well, it dropped somewhere in the middle of my speech. "There were more places," I say, "but I've just forgotten them. They all kind of blended together, and so it's hard to remember exactly where I was at which age."

"That's crazy," Marlene whispers, and I give her a smile, though it's a little sad. "Well, now that I'm bummed out, let's talk about the party." She turns to her friends. "Zeke, Uriah, is your mom going to be there?"

Zeke gives a sort of lopsided grin. "No, she said she'd clear out if we promised no alcohol."

The girl with close-cropped hair sighs. "Where's the fun in that, then?"

Christina turns to her. "Don't be a jerk, Lynn."

Lynn quirks an eyebrow and mocks her tone. "Don't be a self-centered brat, Christina."

They exchange a glare-off until Marlene clears her throat. "Both of you, stop. I'm not dealing with your crap today – especially with Tris here." She glances at me with a little smile, and I return it, and I start to really like this girl. "And the party tonight is just us?"

"Yeah," the guy named Uriah says. "We're not hosting the entire junior class again like last time." He whistles. "That was a mess."

"We got grounded for three months," Zeke adds, and Shauna laughs.

"Grounded? Actually?" she asks, then sees the serious look on his face. "Sorry, babe."

He responds with a kiss on the side of her forehead, which makes me look down, a little embarrassed. I'm not very good with couple-y stuff, and I feel like I'm intruding on a private moment, even though it was just a forehead kiss. Marlene notices my discomfort with concern, then tilts her head away from the table and mouths, _Come on_.

I swallow my confusion and subtly get up, ignoring the curious glance from Christina, and when she sees Marlene getting up as well, she shrugs and starts engaging in conversation with Will. I follow Marlene to the edge of the cafeteria and give her a little smile.

"What's up?" I ask.

She hesitates. "I just wanted to talk to you, like, not with everyone else. They're sometimes a little crazy – I didn't want you getting overwhelmed."

I start to like her even more. "They're actually really nice."

"Yeah, they are," she says with a little laugh. "But I just wanted to let you know, what you said before is not true. The part about that you shouldn't make friends because you'll have to say goodbye after a year? Who cares? Honey, we've got phones. It's not like you'll break our hearts, because instead of breaking them, you'll add to them with your own. And when you leave, sure, it'll be incredibly sad, but we'll have all these memories and love for each other." She pauses. "Basically, I want to get to know you better. In the five seconds I've known you, I can tell you're a really cool person to hang out with, and I'd like to do that. You should really come to the party tonight, Tris. I know you're reluctant, and I get that, but you shouldn't throw your entire life away because you're afraid of the future. You're supposed to enjoy things in the moment. Otherwise, you're going to waste your entire junior year."

I stare at her, and I try to think of something to say, but nothing comes out. This is so _different_ from all my other years at school. Never have I been pleaded to like this.

"It's going to be an easy party," she says. "It's just the people at the table, and we'll play truth or dare and hang out and drink soda. It'll be so much fun. You don't have to wear something nice, either, since it's so casual, but let's be real here – Christina's going to wear, like, a prom dress." She laughs, and I laugh with her. "I love the girl, but _casual attire_ is not in her vocabulary." 

I make up my mind. "Okay," I say, the word light on my tongue. "Okay, I'll come."

 **The week of daily 2,000 word updates is over. I'm working on figuring out a good schedule for the rest of the book – either 1,000 word updates every day or 2,000 word updates every other day. Please review which one you would prefer. Thanks.**

 **-Addi**


	8. Chem and Gym

**So I haven't come up with an update schedule yet since I got conflicting reviews, but until I figure out what to do, here's another chapter. Enjoy!**

Unknown Number: _hey._

Tris: _who is this?_

Unknown Number: _It's me, Peter._

Tris: _oh, hey._

Peter: _so we were talking about this afternoon before we got interrupted_

Peter: _let's go out at 4? I'll pick the place – you don't have to do anything._

Tris: _So sorry, I have somewhere I have to be at 5._

Peter: _We can pack a lot of things into an hour, Hoodie._

Tris: _*blushes*_

Peter: _haha, no – I was thinking a walk._

Tris: _a walk? Where?_

Peter: _a surprise._

Tris: _ok. I'll make time, Blondie._

Peter: _whoa, my hair is precious_

Tris: _so is my hoodie._

Peter: _where are you now?_

Tris: _library._

Peter: _What class?_

Tris: _chem_

Peter: _nice. I'm in gym, but I snuck out to text this really cute girl who makes fun of my gorgeous hair._

Tris: _what gorgeous hair?_

Peter: _haha, very funny. Anyway, so yes or no to this afternoon?_

Tris: _yes, but it can only be 45 mins. I don't want to be late to my other thing._

Peter: _I won't keep you long._

Tris: _have to go._

Peter: _ok, Hoodie. See you._

I look up guiltily. I don't know why I agreed to a date with Peter this afternoon. Christina had warned me many times not to be late to the party, and going on a walk with Peter would be cutting it close. I sigh and rub my eyes, exhausted from the achingly long day.

It's the second-to-last class before the end of school. My last class, of course, is gym, where Four is apparently assisting. I don't know how I'm going to do in gym – sure, I'm an okay athlete, but I really don't want to make a fool of myself in front of Four.

I've been trying to define Four and Peter, categorize them into little boxes so I don't get surprised by either of them, which I already have. To be honest, I'm pretty scared of that guy who came up and slung his arm around Peter at the vending machine – Eric, I think his name was. It wasn't his tattoos or piercings or anything – I'm completely fine with those, and I think stereotypes about people with them are disgusting and untrue, but it was just the seething glare he sent Four that made me want to sprint as far as I could away from the two. It made me sort of fear for Four's life, as silly as that sounds. And as far as I can tell, it didn't look like Four was so pleased with Eric either. I sensed some sort of deep hatred between the two, and I didn't like it and still don't.

"Who were you texting?" The girl named Shauna is in chem with me and took it upon herself to sit next to me and basically be my guardian against the teacher, who is a jerk.

"No one," I say. "Well, Peter."

She rolls her eyes. "Don't be an idiot, Tris."

"Excuse me?"

"Do you even like him?"

I hesitate. "Well, no. But he's nice."

"So basically you're trying to make yourself like him."

"That's not true. I just want to give him a chance."

"He doesn't deserve a chance, Tris. And to be honest, your ignoring Christina is not a smart move. Though she may seem like a bit self-centered, she's a smart kid who knows what's the right thing to do and someone you should trust. Christina went through crap with Peter, and I don't want you mixed up in all of it all over again. I guess you think it's pretty cool that someone's showing this much interest in you your first day, but honey, you're going to find someone so much better. I can tell." She grins. "And maybe that person is Four."

My heart jumps sky-high, and I have no idea why. "What are you talking about?"

"He's obsessed with you," she says. "The only person he usually talks to is Christina. You should spend some time with him tonight at the party. Get to know him better. That's a kid you should date, Tris."

"Whoa, Shauna," I say, forcing a laugh, but it's fake and dry and totally unconvincing. "I don't like Four."

"Well, you don't like Peter either, and you're going out with him."

"It's just one date this afternoon," I protest, and instantly I've said too much. Shauna fixes me with a stare.

"This afternoon? Wow, you're even more of an idiot than I realized." She whistles, and I honestly have no idea what to make of her, except that she doesn't take crap and she seems loyal to her friends. "If Christina finds out you're going to be late to the party because you're going out with her ex, she's going to be _pissed_."

"Shauna, I don't know what to do," I say, suddenly fighting back tears as she stares at me impassively. I want to confide in this girl. Something about her makes me trust her. "I want to like Peter but at the same time I don't."

"Don't feel pressured to go out with the jerk. Tell him no, Tris. Remember your shutting-out policy? Shut him out. It looks like you have practice with that."

"Yeah, right. I did a complete 180 with this party tonight, Shauna. I still don't know how Marlene convinced me to come."

"It's because Marlene is freaking amazing, that's why," Shauna tells me, and I laugh a bit. "No, I'm serious. I'm not great with therapy stuff, so if you have something you want to talk about and don't feel like being called an idiot, Marlene's your girl. I'll give you her number, if you want."

I shrug. "Sure."

"And while I'm at it, I'll give you the rest of the gang's numbers," she says. "Here, give me your phone."

I slip it to her and she proceeds to open the contacts app and adds everyone into my contacts. "I'll add you to our group chat after class, just because of the party, okay? And if you want to leave it afterwards, feel free." 

"Thanks, Shauna," I say, and I really mean it. She shrugs.

"No problem. Just don't be an idiot with Peter, okay? Promise me that. Please."

I give her a smile. "Okay."

()()()

I didn't notice it, but I had sort of been looking forward to gym all day, ever since Four told me he'd be there. Now I'm standing outside the double doors to the gym, trying to muster up the confidence to head inside.

"Hey," a voice says, and I turn to see the guy who I think is named Zeke, strolling up to me. "I heard Shauna gave you my number."

"Yeah," I say uncertainly. He shakes his hair out of his eyes.

"If you text me first, I'll have your number and then can text my address to you for the party tonight. Will you do that?"

"Yeah, of course." I smile a bit, and he smiles back.

"What are you doing just standing out here?"

I laugh a bit. "I'm trying to muster up the courage to go inside."

"Why? Not a fan of gym?"

"No," I say hastily. "I've actually run cross-country and track every year since sixth grade."

"So what's the big deal?"

"I don't know," I say, not willing to admit to him that the reason I don't want to go in is that it feels wrong to face Four and know that I'm going out with Peter after school. Actually, the thought of going out with Peter when I'm near Four sort of makes me want to vomit.

"Okay," he says, putting his hands in his jeans pockets. "Well, come in when you're ready, I guess."

I give him a nod. "Thanks, Zeke."

"No problem." He swings open the double doors and heads inside, and I take a few deep breaths before following.

There are about thirty juniors and seniors crowded in the center, all dressed in Roth High gym uniforms. _Crap_. I don't have a freaking uniform. This is not good.

I spot Four in the corner, chatting with Zeke, and instantly want to fall through the floor. I'm wearing _jeans_. I can't be in gym with jeans! 

Four breaks apart from Zeke and heads over to the group of kids in the center. "We're just waiting on a few more people and then we can get started," he tells them. Then he spots me and beckons. Nervously I make my way over to him, trying to hide behind my hoodie.

"Tris," he says, his voice rich and deep and silky. "You don't have a uniform?"

"No," I squeak out, not only embarrassed because of my lack of uniform but because he looks so handsome standing there in front of me in Roth High sweatpants and a Roth High cotton T-shirt. "I didn't know we had to have one."

"Well, you actually have to have three, but it's okay. This is your warning, though. You can order them on our website."

I nod. "Okay. Sorry, Four."

He cracks a smile. "Don't worry about it." He pauses. "Why don't you go hang out with the others?"

I feel disappointed. I thought he would want to talk to me. I thought … silly as it may seem, I thought he _liked_ me, like Shauna had said. But I guess obviously not.

He sees my face fall and hesitates. "Sorry, did I say something wrong?"

"No," I force out. "No, you didn't say anything wrong."

He gives me a little perfunctory smile that sort of hurts. I thought he wanted to talk to me or something. Wasn't that what he said this morning after the Four Laws of Humanity? I honestly don't remember. Oh, this is so embarrassing. I turn and walk away, my face shadowed by the edges of the hoodie as I stand near the group of kids, close enough to not stand out but farther enough so that I'm not mistaken for one of them.

"Alright, guys," a voice calls, and all of a sudden a woman in track sweatpants and a gray Roth High sweatshirt emerges from the double doors. There are _hello_ s exchanged between her and the other kids, who seem to know her very well and obviously love her. "It's great to see all of you here." She arrives next to Four and claps her hands. "Since I'm in the mood for being a jerk today, I'm going to send all of you around the gym three times to warm up, then you should all come back here and we'll start rules all that crap." She laughs. "For those of you who don't know me, I'm Coach Tori, your gym teacher and coach of cross country, track and field in the spring, girls and boys soccer, and girls basketball. Coach Amar is in charge of all the other sports, including girls varsity tennis, which is different from last year." She pauses. "Go on, guys. Get moving."

Reluctantly the kids start jogging, and Coach Tori motions to Four, who shrugs and joins us running.

"Four is going to go the fastest you should go, so pace yourselves based on him," Coach Tori calls. Four increases his pace until he's running, not jogging, on the shiny basketball floor, and quite a ways ahead of anyone else, but I'm sort of bored jogging in the back. I mean, I know I'm a pretty good runner, just because I've been doing it since sixth grade, and I don't want to waste a gym class pretending I'm a bad one.

I increase my pace until I'm at the front of the pack of kids, and even that is too slow for me. I know I should pace myself, but I also know that this is way too slow for me, so I break apart and start running farther ahead. I spot Zeke a little ways behind me and toss him a big grin, too adrenalized to care that I'm supposed to be this impassive, solitary girl who hides behind a hoodie. To my surprise, Zeke smiles back, and suddenly the knowledge that (despite my best efforts) I've found friends at Roth High makes me want to go faster, and I know that I'm comfortable with this pace and could carry it on for a really long time, so I increase my speed until I'm about halfway between the group of kids and Four.

"Pace yourself, Jeans," I hear Coach Tori call, and that embarrassment fuels me to go even further. My legs pump steadily, evenly, sneakers slapping the floor and rising back up again in a steady, familiar motion. My hoodie feels heavy, so I shrug the hood off mid-stride, letting the bleachers blur beside me as I go even faster, loving the feel of running, of _going_ somewhere. I'm almost level with Four now, and Coach Tori doesn't seem to be focused on me, so I increase my speed, finishing my second lap at the heels of Four, who doesn't notice I'm right behind him. I angle to the right a bit and increase just enough so that I'm next to him. He glances over and just about stops from shock.

"I didn't see you there," he says uneasily, and I feel proud that I've unnerved him. A sweat breaks out on my forehead, and I know it's not healthy to go this fast for a warm-up run but honestly I don't care about all the cross country rules right now. I just want to run, freely and without hindrances.

"Sorry, you were just going so slowly," I tease, and instead of responding he increases his pace. I match it with a bit of difficulty, and he goes even faster. I refuse to let this boy get the better of me, and so I pull ahead of him.

"Stay behind Four, Jeans!" Tori calls, which makes Four smile. I run level with the backs of his heels, letting him know I can still keep up with him, even when he breaks out into a fast run to try to lose me. I'm fueled by so much adrenaline right now that I somehow continue to run just behind him, and we arrive back at Coach Tori, our third lap complete.

She eyes me, probably assessing me. "You on track?"

"I like cross country better," I say in between heaving breaths, "but yeah, I've been running since sixth grade."

She gives me a nod. "I can see that. You're not bad. What's your name?"

"Beatrice Prior," I say, then remember my new nickname at this school, "but you can call me Tris."

"I will … Tris." She sighs, glancing at the other students running. "The rest of the kids are still on their second lap, so go grab some water and cool down before we go over gym rules and everything."

I give her a nod. "Thanks."

"No problem," she says, and I head over to the bleachers to grab my water bottle. To my surprise, Four follows me. 

"I didn't know you could run like that," he says, and I shrug.

"I like to," is all I say, and he smiles.

"I could see that, Tris." He pauses. "I actually wanted to talk to you about something."

I raise my eyebrows and sit on the bleachers, taking a gulp of water as I do so, for some reason hoping for it to be along the lines of _I think you're really great and do you maybe want to grab coffee sometime?_ But I keep my voice neutral as I speak. "What's up, Four?"

He hesitates. "I'm sorry about lunch, okay?" Instantly my heart sinks. "I know it's not my place to … I don't know, protect you or whatever. It's just that I know what Peter is capable of, and you don't, and-"

"Can you not do this right now?" I snap, to his confusion. "I am so sick of talking about Peter. I can't talk to _anyone_ without his name coming up, and I'm sorry, but maybe I _do_ want to go out with him, and maybe you should just stay out of my business. Maybe he is bad news. So what? Why do you care, Four? What's _in_ _it_ for you? You've known me for like five minutes, and to be honest you're sort of pissing me off."

He looks completely shocked. "Um – I'm sorry, Tris-"

"Yes, Four, I know you are, but that's just not good enough." I turn away. "I'm sort of exhausted from running, so could you please just leave me alone?"

He walks away without another word.

 **I just wanted to let everyone know that there will be eventual FourTris, it just might take a while. I'm trying to keep the story as real as I can while following the Divergent storyline, so it's not instant. Neither are the friendships. But next chapter, there will be truth or dare.**

 **-Addi**


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